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avochele · 9 months ago

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The Idol - Ruby Red.

tags. idol!woozi x idol!oc, fluff, angst

headquarter.

chapter 1.

synopsis. In wich a girl has a way too personal connection to a ceiling fan and in wich people need to learn that not everything is what it appears to be.

“People desire me. Because of red. Especially men. I became an object of desire. An object of love. An object that was made through the colour of red. I am red.”

warnings. toxic fans, obsession, anxiety, objectification(?), stalking, blood, obsessive crazy and toxic fans, oc is a simp for woozi (but honestly who isn't?), both are hopelessly in love and too dense to notice, I have no idea how recording a song or being an idol works so please excuse my messy excuse of a song production etc., obsessive fan incidents inspired by tvxq's sasaeng incidents (because no one in their right mind could come up with stuff like that) (more will be added if needed.)

note. Blame my impatience for the irregular updates. sorry.

Red. Everything is red. I don’t like red. Haven’t liked it for 6 years.

I’m sure I did like it at some point. I can’t remember. I should like red. Red is my business in a way. It’s my job. Red made me successful. Popular. Famous.

But I don’t think it makes me happy.

For the longest time I noticed something missing. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when. But I have been feeling like I’m in a void. A void of nothingness. Except for the red specks everywhere.

There should be more. I should be happy. But I am not.

The fan above my bed buzzes softly as it blows cool air onto my skin. They told me to get an AC. I didn’t. I like the sound of the fan. It calms me. It has been there since I moved in and it has not once failed me. I don’t see a point in getting rid of something that lacks in nothing but age. If it does its work - and that it certainly does - why replace it.

I shouldn’t be having such a personal connection to a ceiling fan.

I open my eyes. The red is gone. The blowing air causes my eyes to tear up momentarily, causing me involuntarily to look in another direction but up.

I see a white furball laying at the end of my bed. Next to me. Not quite out of reach. I could stretch my arm and feel her soft fur. But I don’t. I don’t feel like moving.

I like my job. I like what I do. I am one of the few people on this earth who were able to fulfil their dream. And I would never change this for anything. It’s just the red that bothers me.

I reach for my phone. The case. Red. Like everything else. It was the details that made me become the Idol I am today. The small parts that were red. That were sensual. That were exciting. That were loving.

People desire me. Because of red. Especially men. I became an object of desire. An object of love. An object that was made through the colour of red. I am red.

The sheets under me rustle as I sit up. Marie’s tail moves over the white sheets. The white curtains - that look almost beige because of the setting sun - stop the light from travelling further into the room.

It’s 8pm. I should be heading out soon. I’m working late today. They gave me midday off. I was at the company yesterday until the middle of the night. I came back at around 3 am and today won’t be any different.

I like the late practice hours. The moments when only a few people are in the building. When it’s quiet. Almost so quiet that I miss the buzzing of my fan in my room.

They have an AC in the building. I like my fan.

I get up. My Bag with my stuff stands next to my door, seemingly waiting for me to pick it up. I’m driving to the company alone today. I’ll be meeting my manager there. She told me to be there in time. I’m already running late.

I tap my freshly manicured fingers on the steering wheel. Dark cherry red with golden accents. I like them. They're pretty, if it weren’t for the red. It isn't as bad as other reds. Not as striking as others. But red. Still. I’d love it. If it weren’t red.

The traffic light shines in a neon light inside my car. Painting everything an anxiety inducing colour.

It’s the colour I'm used to the most. The striking red that fills the stage as soon as I’m about to enter. It’s the colour I hate the most.

The red changes colour and the cars start moving again. Out of reflex I look into the rear-view mirror. Nothing suspicious yet. But they could be anywhere. The people that call themselves my fans but do nothing to make it seem like they are.

There were incidents. People had followed me. People found out where I live. People sent me packages. All kinds of packages. I don't like the packages. Not because of the striking red they are always wrapped in but because of the red inside.

I’d be alright as soon as I arrive in the parking garage under the Hybe Building. It’s only six minutes away now.

Another red light. I check the time on my phone. I am late. I had expected it and texted Taeja. She hadn’t responded but she read it. I know she did. She never really answers. She’s not a big texter.

I drive into the garage. The fluorescent light flickers for a moment before it shines on the few cars still there. I drive by Taeja’s car and park right next to the elevator. That way I don’t need to walk that much when I leave again.

A few metres away stands another car. I’ve seen it a lot. It’s always there when I come and it’s always there when I leave again. I don’t know who it belongs to.

The hallway is long and dark. I like these Hallways. No trace of colour. Just pure and grave grey or black. I enter the practice room Taeja said she’ll wait in.

The room is quiet. Taeja stands right next to the mirror that takes on almost one part of the whole wall. She types something on her phone.

The backup dancers are sitting all over the room on the floor. I have known some of them since the beginning. Many of them have changed agencies since my debut. Just a handful stayed.

I consider them my friends. Even though we never really met outside the company. I’m happy they stayed. At least that hasn’t changed.

Even though the way they view me might have changed. But that’s for my old me to worry about. Everyone changes. And so do I.

“I thought you’d be even later.” She says as she puts her phone on the small stand next to her. “Traffic wasn’t as bad as I thought.” I say, putting my bag next to the door.

“Have you eaten anything?” She always asks that. I don’t blame her. “Yeah. I had TakeOut earlier.” I answer her.

She nods satisfied and claps her hands. “Then shall we start?”

The room is dark. The only light in the room comes from my computer and the sunset lamp in the corner. My friend got it for my birthday.

He’s been in my studio more times than I can count and he’s always been complaining about it not being cozy enough.

Next to the lamp hangs a printed picture that takes over a good fourth of the wall. It’s me on stage at Coachella. I like the picture. Even though the lightsticks make me look like I'm standing on a red ocean.

I’m not surprised they gave me the red one.

I tried making my studio not so red. I think that’s why Seungkwan gave me the sunset lamp. It’s not red. It’s more like a golden orange but still fits my vibe I suppose.

I like it. The plant under the picture lets its leaves hang a little. I don’t know what to do about it. I tried everything. Even talked to it. My best friend said that might help. It didn’t.

I’ve been sitting in front of my computer for a good forty minutes now. Staring at the small symbols.

I don’t know how this works. I should get Beomju to check it over.

I close the file.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. It’s coloured in orange light. The water bottle rustles slightly as I pick it up from my desk.

My phone says 2am. I lean forward and send the file to Beomju. The track is almost finished, just needs to be filed to perfection. This is for Beomju to worry about. He knows what the company likes. I don’t feel like putting up with that now. I text him that I’ve sent it to him. Close my phone and get up.

My dark red zip up sweater lays carelessly on my couch together with my bag. The rhinestones on it shine mindlessly in the orange light. I grab it and turn off the light.

The way back to the garage is quiet. I lean against the elevator wall and close my eyes for a moment. The slight rumble of the elevator keeps me from banging my head against the wall. I pull my black cap down a little.

The door opens and white fluorescent light flickers as I step out into the cold parking lot. The garage is almost empty now. Besides my own car there is only the one that's always there.

My steps are the only thing being heard in the empty garage. I open the passenger door and throw my bag onto the seat.

As I walk around it to get to the drivers side the elevator door pings open again. I look up not having expected another person to come down this late.

A guy around my height leaves the elevator. He’s wearing a cap that hides his dark, seemingly long hair, a black shirt that looks a little too big on him but at the same time too tight to conceal anything around his shoulder and chest area and black sweatpants.

He holds a grey sweatshirt in his hand together with his phone. The other one reaches to unlock his car. It’s the car in front.

My hand still lays on the door handle when he looks up. He looks at me and my heart jumps a little.

Red. Everything seems red all of a sudden. I don’t know what happend. But when he looked at me my chest turned warm. The heat creeping up my neck.

I stared. I stared goddamn much. And he noticed.

He smiles at me and bows slightly. Still with my hand on the door handle I lower my head a little. An attempt at a relaxed bow.

I’ve seen him before. Multiple times. Many times actually. Why does it feel so different now? Because I’m not on stage? Pumped with adrenaline? Because he’s not with Seungkwan? Or Minghao? Joshua? Or anyone I know?

What is happening?

I’m still staring. I turn to my car and open the door before scrambling to put my sweater on.

My face is still burning red. And I hope for everything that he doesn’t notice.

I bow one last time without looking at him and hurry to get into the driver's seat. I’m not sure if I trust myself enough to immediately leave. So I scramble to make it look like I’m busily doing something on my phone.

I connect the speakers to my phone. I type in the navigation. I type a message but am really just trying to get him to leave first.

His car lights blind me for a second and then he goes driving right by me. I see his backlight. And then he’s gone.

Everything's still red. A deep shade of red. I lean back and knot my hand through my hair.

Close my eyes. Open them again. Still red.

Damn you Woozi for making me see red.

TAGLIST. @readerwonnie @thepoopdokyeomtouched @berriebeetles @rvebyntvr

This work will be simutaneously posted on my Wattpad [click here.]

©AVOCHELE, 2024

All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a story review.

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avochele · 26 days ago

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The Idol - Ruby Red.

tags. idol!woozi x idol!oc, fluff, angst

headquarter. <previous chapter. - next chapter.> Track #3 - cherries.

synopsis. In wich a girl has a way too personal connection to a ceiling fan and in wich people need to learn that not everything is what it appears to be.

“People desire me. Because of red. Especially men. I became an object of desire. An object of love. An object that was made through the colour of red. I am red.”

I rock back and forth on my feet as I wait for someone to open the door.

The hallway is bright. The window on the other side of the hall takes up almost all the space on the wall. You can watch over half of Seoul from up here.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and ring the doorbell again. The blue elephant is now stuck between my arm and my chest. Watching the door.

As I realise no one would be coming to open the door for me, I place the elephant next to the door.

Hopefully they’ll see it when they come back.

We’re sitting in a more secluded corner of the cafe we’re in. Sena sits in front of me sipping on her iced Americano.

She has her MacBook open on the table, staring intensely at the screen. On the MacBook she had stuck the sticker of my first solo album.

It’s red. It says in black elegant letters ‘yaksok’. Promise. It was meant as a promise to always love and cherish the fans and to never stray away from the person I was then.

I’m not sure if I was able to keep that promise as everything changed drastically after s:rens disbandment. Three out of six members started to study, one became an actress and two started their soloist activities.

Sena had started studying at Enha Women’s University. Modern Art. She’s the only one I stayed in contact with. I sometimes see Park Suhyeon at music shows or award shows. But more than a friendly hug, a smile or a wave is nothing that we deem necessary.

On top of it all we both know that the friendliness between us is fake. But none of us would ever admit that in front of our fans. I sometimes feel a sense of guilt about this whole situation we found ourselves in. But at the end of the day I know it’s not our fault.

It all happened because of not well enough thought through decisions that led to us not renewing our contract in 2018 and the six of us separating.

Everyone always says that being an Idol in a band means having a second family. That wasn’t the case for us. There was always a clear favouritism from the company building a strong competitiveness between us.

We were coworkers if anything but never friends, let alone family.

It was all fake.

"This is making me sick.“ Sena breaks the silence and pulls me from my thoughts. "Still nothing?“ I ask her when she continues to stare off her MacBook in a rather pissed off manner.

She’s been waiting since I arrived here.

"What exactly are you waiting for?“ I ask her. Emphasising the ‘exactly’. "A mail from the exhibition hall. They said they’d get back to me by today because of the exhibition in two months.“

I carefully reach over the table and close her laptop. "They can wait.“

She pushes her blonde hair out of her face and takes the small fork in front of her. "Yes they can wait.“ she says as she brutally divides the cake into two pieces, "but I can not.“ she continues, as she pushes the bigger piece into her mouth. "Two venues have already canceled. This is my last hope.“ she says, chewing the piece.

I wonder if people would notice when I’d take the other piece of cake. "You want that?“ Sena asks me and just like on autopilot I shake my head and cross my arms in front of me. Great. I should have taken it.

She looks at me with a raised eyebrow before eating the other half too. "You should slow down when eating, you know. I don’t want you to choke.“ I say to her as she washes the cake down with her drink.

"You sound like Jina Eonnie, you know that?“ she states and I look up at the name of our former Band leader. Eonnie?

"Are you still in contact with her?“ I ask. Sena looks at me as if I had caught her doing something very illegal.

"No. I am not.“ she says. I don’t believe her. "You said Eonnie.“ I say. She wouldn’t call her that if they hadn’t been in contact for at least multiple times a month.

"I call you Eonnie too. Eonnie.“ She tries saving herself. "No, you don’t.“

She avoids my eyes. "You know I don’t judge you on meeting her. I would have just liked to know. She was my leader too, you know.“ I say a little quieter this time.

"I know.“ She says and finally looks at me again. "I’m sorry I haven’t told you. She’s actually getting married this year.“ I look at her with wide eyes. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.

"What with who?“ I ask stunned at the new information. "Lim Woojin“ she says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Lim Woojin was Jina’s boyfriend. Is Jina’s boyfriend, I suppose. They have been together since our debut. Our management and company didn’t know. They had been livid when they found out.

We had always tried to keep it a secret for as long as possible. That was one of the few things where we actually worked as a team. Getting our boyfriends - or One Night stands - out of the dorm as quietly and unnoticed as possible.

I had no Idea they were still together.

"I thought they had broken it off in the last year of our contract.“ I say more as a question than anything else.

"They did. But they got back together shortly after our contract ended.“ Sena must have known for a long time if the nonchalant tone meant anything. "I’m sure you’ll get an invitation. You don’t have to come though. I know how hard it is right now.“

She and Taeja were the only people that I had told about my paranoia. And the ‘cherry problem’ as Sena likes to call it. Even now it’s there. Sitting in a corner where only I can see it. Waiting. Watching.

"No. I’d like to come. I’ll see if it fits with my schedule and see then.“ I say taking a sip of my iced Coffee.

Sena nods. Her eyes slightly distance. She’s not looking at me. More past me. "By the way, did you bring anyone from the company with you?“ she asks, lowering her voice and coming slightly closer. "No, why?“ I ask her.

She breathes in deeply and answers: "There's a guy that has been looking at us for a good while now. I didn’t think much of it until he started pointing his phone at us.“

I freeze.

I’m sitting with my back to the other customers. It became a habit. I hoped no one would recognize me like that. Involuntarily I start trying to think of a reason for what would have given me away.

Absent-mindedly I thread my hand through my curls. I didn’t feel like straightening my hair this morning.

I pull the dark green baseball cap more into my face. My hair falls in wild curls over my shoulder. “Do you think he recognized us?” I ask Sena while shielding my face with my hair and leaning closer to her.

She looks at me amused. “Well I’m sure he didn’t recognize me.” she says and leans back in her seat. I close my eyes. My face turning sour. She’s right. She’s been out of the media for a while now. Sena had dyed her hair blonde after disbandment. She said she couldn’t look in the mirror. Everything she sees is the Idol that didn’t make it. There’s no way they would recognize her after six years.

“Do you want to come over to the company? I only have to finish recording today.” I suggest. In my studio we would definitely be able to talk without anyone filming us.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “You don’t have to if you feel uncomfortable.”I look at her, tilting my head slightly. Still shielding my face with my hair.

She has been in my studio before, even though she often gets uncomfortable and excuses herself soon after. The aftermath of our group days. “Oh no it’s okay. Probably better to talk there anyway.”

“Is he still looking?” I ask, trying to find the best moment to leave. I search through my bag for my face mask I stuffed in there earlier. Sena packs her laptop into her bag not looking away from the man behind me.

“He’s not looking. Let’s go. Now!” she says and is already halfway to the door. I stumble after her. We’re walking fast to the company across the street.

“He’s not following us right?” Sena turns around. “I don't think he is.” I nod not being able to form a coherent sentence as I try to catch my breath while simultaneously trying to stop my laughter.

A short quiet melody plays as the door opens “Did you see how I almost fell as I got up?” I almost choke on my laughter as I turn around looking away from Sena.

In front of me sits the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on.

Red. Everything is red. Now it’s louder. Not a background noise anymore but a loud prominent reminder. It jumped out. Laughing at me. Happy it caught me off guard. I might have laughed too if my heart would have let me.

He has his slightly long hair tied together in the back, leaving a few black strands of hair falling into his face. Beautiful.

I feel a light push from behind me. I must have stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?” Sena asks from behind me. I step aside, so she can see him too.

I don’t see her reaction as I still cannot redirect my eyes from him. “What are they doing here?” She whispers.

Beomju and Woozi are sitting with their backs to us. They are both wearing headphones, occasionally writing something down.

“Is that Woozi from SEVENTEEN?” she continues, leaning closer to me. I nod slowly with my mouth slightly agape. “You know you should close your mouth if you don’t want flies flying in.”

I close my mouth.

I start towards Beomju. The red specks following my vision. Trying to keep a healthy safety distance between the black haired producer and me, I knock on the desk in front of my main producer.

Behind me, Sena slowly lets herself sink down on my couch. Beomju looks up and takes his headphones off. “You’re late.” he says and stops the track, which makes Woozi look up.

Those dark brown eyes. So pretty.

“I don’t think I am.” I say slowly. I’m not sure if he heard me. My attention is on the singer next to him, who has just taken his headphones off. He leans back in his chair. My chair.

Attractive.

“You're half an hour late, we said three thirty not four.” he says, seemingly not noticing my lack of attention on him.

“I kept her away, I didn’t know she had something scheduled this afternoon.” Sena speaks up from my couch. I would have defended her if my attention wouldn’t be stuck somewhere else. Beomju and Woozi look at her momentarily. They both stop at her. Maybe recognizing her? I don’t know.

“Sorry I didn’t look at the time. We got held up.” I say glancing at the SEVENTEEN member. He looks back at me and suddenly I am hyper aware of the red colouring my vision.

“Don’t apologise to him, apologise to me. You kept me waiting.” Beomju says while suppressing a chuckle. I look at him annoyed.

“Sorry I was late and you had to put up with him for so long.” I say directly looking at Woozi, finally overcoming the red volcano eruption and sitting down next to Sena.

I see how Woozi looks away and unsuccessfully tries to hide a smile.

Beomju lets out an annoyed sigh. “I let Jihoon look over the last two b-sides we haven’t recorded yet. Give it a listen and tell us what you think.” Beomju says, handing me his set of headphones.

I look at Sena. “Go ahead, I'll wait for my mail.” She says pulling out her laptop. I nod, taking the headphones from Beomju.

At some point as we went over to recording, Sena had left to work on her own projects. Beomju had left too because officially the schedule had ended. But because it was my last schedule for today, I decided to stay a little longer.

Woozi had suggested that he’d also stay because he finished all of his own schedules and would work on his own songs anyway. So a little change wouldn’t hurt.

So now I am alone with him. With the possibly most beautiful person I have ever met.

The red hasn’t left my vision since I came here. I feel a weird sense of comfort. It’s not too pushy. Not too loud. Just there. And somehow it makes me feel warm. Like the soup at my parents' restaurant. With people talking and cutlery scraping on plates.

Normally my heart would start racing. My hands would start getting clammy. But right now there isn’t anything like that.

Yes my heart is beating way faster than normal but I’m not sure if it’s because of the red or the person next to me being dangerously close from touching my shoulder.

“What do you think?” he asks and presses play. The final version of the last b-side flows out of the speakers. It’s beautiful. But honestly what is there that is not good that this man has produced.

“I like it. It’s really good. Thank you.” I say looking at him. He smiles and looks at the screen again as my voice continues to flow out of the speakers.

“Of course. I’ve liked your songs for a long time now. Thank you for letting me work with you.” He says and leans back in his chair.

My heart jumps against my ribcage. I didn’t expect him to say something like that. He likes my songs.

"Thank you. I like yours too.“ I say without thinking. I like yours too? Have you never talked to a guy? He smiles and presses a few buttons.

"We should-“

"We should-“ we both start at the same time. He laughs lightly. His laugh sends sparks of red, warm electricity down to my chest and stomach. The soup is going down to my stomach. His laugh is pretty.

"You go first.“ I say looking at him. His hair is hanging slightly chaotically down his forehead by the way he continuously raked his hand through it over the past few hours.

"We should probably head home now. It’s kinda late.“ he says with a side glance to the clock hanging next to the door. 2:48am.

Oh. "Oh yes. Yes you’re right.“ I search for my phone between the stacks of papers in front of me. Slightly disappointed that our little work session ended. I enjoyed working with him.

Slowly I get up looking for my bag. "What were you going to say?“ Woozi asks as I walk over to the couch.

We should grab something to eat sometime.

"Oh nothing. You took the words right out of my mouth.“ I don’t see his reaction.

The ride down in the elevator is quiet. "Thank you for working on my songs today. I don’t think I would have gotten to finish them today without you.“ I break the silence.

"Of course.“ It's quiet again. "If you need help with anything, I'll gladly help.“ he adds after a short pause in which I try to focus on the level numbers changing. Doesn’t help that they’re red, of all colours.

I nod thanks. "Was that Kim Sena earlier?“ I look at him surprised. I hadn’t expected him to say more. Let alone ask about Sena.

"Yeah, we met for coffee.“ I say, looking at him through the curls that had fallen into my face. I push them away. "It's great that you’re still friends with them. Even though it’s been a while since you disbanded.“

He knows about s:ren. I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t let him notice anything. Everyone thinks you were best friends. Family. Don’t let him notice the lie.

I lean back against the mirror and smile. "Yeah it is.“ Lie.

“I like your hair like that, by the way.” He says looking straight ahead, “It suits you.”. I feel my ears going red. “Thank you. I don’t get to wear it like that often.” I say. Truth. “Why?” he asks. “The company likes it better straight.” He nods slowly. I wait for him to say more. He looks like he wants to say more.

He doesn’t. The door slides open.

“Thank you Woozi. For tonight I mean.”

“Jihoon.”

“What?”

“Call me Jihoon.”

The hallway to my apartment is empty. The blue elephant is the only thing filling the empty space.

They didn’t take it with them? They must have seen it. Maybe it’s not theirs? I should ask them the next time I see them. How else would it have come up here?

I crouch down and take it in my hands. I turn it around as if that would tell me where it had come from. It’s a plushie. A normal blue elephant plushie.

I get up still looking at the elephant and open my door. I place it on my dining table.

I turn on my ceiling fan and close my curtains before I fall face first onto my bed. Marie moves from my pillow to the back of my head, curling into a white fluffy ball. I feel her soft white tail stroking against my back. Almost as if to say I’m here. You’re not alone.

The red had succumbed to a big mass in the back of my mind. Not as prominent. But there. And never leaving my side.

It’s watching me. Something’s watching me. Waiting.

TAGLIST. @hazeljisulatte @thepoopdokyeomtouched @berriebeetles @rvebyntvr @neivivenaj @cookiearmy

This work will be simultaneously published on my Wattpad [click here.]

All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a story review.

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